Lady Jasmine Mysteries
by AndVioletsAreBlue
Summary: Meet Lady Jasmine Rosewater, the tomboy Maid of Honour of the Windsor Castle. Rolling her eyes at her fellow girly Ladies, she kicks into her full gear at the wild world of murder, robbery and deceit. A Lady Grace Mysteries fic...
1. Lady Jasmine's Day Booke

_This day booke belongs to Lady Jasmine Annabeth Lily-Bella Rosewater_

_Daughter of Duke of Alandrica and Countess Rosetta Rosewater _

_The First Maid of Honour and the Queen's Grande Dames_

_Thou shalst not seek for words within these precious pages, for 'tis a booke meant only for my own adjustment and assortment of thoughts and feelings, not for thy eyes nor thy curiosity. Should thee take my plea to thy heart and follow my advice, I wilst thank thee to no end. _

_Thou shalst return this should it be lost, to the Eastern Towers of the sacred Windsor Castle, Pass of the Queen's Assistants, Chamber of A Hundred and Four Roses. Shalst it be unavailable, or I not there, thou shalst send this booke to Lady Ashley Felyn in the Chamber of Mother-of-Pearls._


	2. Day One

_The Twelfth day of February, the Year of our King 1569 _

I am writing this in the faint light of my favourite rose-scented candle, so please excuse the wobbly letters and ink splodges. The candle is lent by my best friend Ashley, which I am extremely grateful about. Ash and I have been best friends for what seems like nearly ten years. It is nearly midnight and thus the outside is coloured in the most discreet, mysterious shade of black. This is the time of the day that I can rest peacefully, and as I drift to sleep, many strange and rather brilliant thoughts weave their way in to my subconscious brain.

That is how I got the idea of having a secret diary, a book for me to pour my innermost thoughts in. A secret book about me, Lady Jasmine Annabeth Lily-Bella Rosewater, the most favoured Maid of Honour.

My favourite person, apart from my mother, is Her Gracious Majesty the Queen. She's a bit old and stout, which you are never supposed to say unless you want to be hit by a shoe, but she is very smart. But she is too old to have children – as Mrs Cobblenock complains when nobody is listening. I approve of the Queen's decision, for why would she marry to gain a king whom she would have to serve? Who would want to get married if they did not have to?

Unfortunately, I have to. The Queen says so.

The most exciting day of my life is supposed to be the day after tomorrow. Her Highness has arranged a magnificent Saint Valentine's Ball and I must choose one of the four suitors the Queen has selected for me to be my wedded husband. We will be handfasted once the lawyers have finished the contracts, and then I shall marry him properly when I turn sixteen. I suspect strongly that Sir Daniel, Duke Sainsbury's nephew, a good-for-nothing show off with nothing but his oily charm and money bribed the Ladies-In-Waiting to convince the Queen to name him the suitor.

I wish I didn't have to marry. But I must, being an heiress, I must – though I do not know why, for the Queen herself would not!

Although I dislike the idea of having to choose my future husband, I do love the idea of dancing. I have been learning to dance for nearly all of my life, for my mother, Countess Rosetta Rosewater, simply loved dancing. They say she twirled like a graceful swan at balls, a glowing phoenix when waltzing. The bright atmosphere of the ballroom, the exquisite music, the mouth-watering refreshments! And all the jugglers who will be tossing red satin hearts in the air! This was going to be a thrilling party!

It is nearly morning-teatime. I've got to go and pick some roses and lilies for my flower jar, for the dawn is approaching.

Later this day

I have just gotten back in from the gardens and – it is simply delightful out there! Combined with the shy glow of the rising sun, the meadow looked just like my imaginary Garden of Eden! I picked not only roses and jasmines but hyacinths, lilac blossoms, and other colourful and sweet-smelling blooms as well. Staggering slightly under the weight of the huge bouquet, I dashed towards my tower-chamber, too impatient to wait for the tea-maid to carry my cloak. When I got back, Mrs Cobblenock was waiting for me at the bottom of the stairs to the Eastern Tower. As always, she started off with a growl at how unladylike it is to stomp down the stairs like that, and then she got on to something even more ridiculous, that I needed to have wheatpaste on my face and my hair in a stupid top-knot at the ball.

"When will you ever live up to that pretty name your mother gave you? Glide, child, _glide_ across the floor like a graceful, weightless petal tossed in the light breeze! And surely you are not planning to wear those filthy streaks of mud in your hair for the ball the day after tomorrow? The Queen herself has especially spent hundreds of pounds for your new gown, you should know better!" she scolded.

That stopped me cold.

"Hundreds of pounds? Honestly?" I asked, my eyes wide with astonishment.

"Yes, child, _hundreds._" She replied smugly, her face distorting into a superior smirk, obviously enjoying the effect of her words. "That laundry girl, Nicole Felton, is just ironing the hems now."

I dashed up the stairs without another word, and in to my chamber.

And there, sitting on the fluffy white rug, her eyebrows furrowed in concentration, was Nicole Felton, folding something horrible, way-too-much-frill kind of pink. Nicole is the girl who once saved my life when I was nearly drowned. Since then we were pretty close. I snuck up to her, as lithe as a cat, and then whispered, "Boo!"

Nicole jumped two feet up into the air and scowled at me, heaving a sigh.

"Jasmine! You scared me stiff!" she huffed.

"Sorry. You looked so funny when you jumped though." I snickered.

"But _my lady_, surely _beauteous, most stunning_ Lady Jasmine knows better than to scare a poor, lowly laundry girl." She said, a mocking smile twitching up to her lips.

"Oh stop that. You know I hate that _my lady_ and _mistress_ talk. But according to Mrs Cobblenock, you've got something to show me, right?"

"Yep. Wait…

"Ta-da!! I ironed the whole dress all by myself, Jasmine!" she said proudly as she produced the most beautiful gown ever.

It looked pretty.

Pretty scary.

It was made of rose velvet and soft, cream coloured silk, the exact colour of my skin, just the right colour for Saint Valentine's Ball. The cream coloured silk was embroidered along the edges with fine threads, of crimson roses with emerald-green leaves and twirling vines. My mother, who died last year, loved flowers. Her favourite were jasmines, the very reason why she named me Jasmine. My favourite are roses, the red ones, though I like the smell of jasmine better. It comforts you. It smells rather like my mum's old petticoat she used to wear at night. There are lots out there in the palace gardens, which is why I like to spend so much time there. I thanked Nicole hurriedly then dashed out of the room leaving Nicole mumbling something unintelligible about my manners behind. I've got to go now. Time for my riding lessons with my pony, Ivory. I hope Sir Nicholas is well, and I can't wait to see my other friend, Richard, the stable-boy!

Later this day

As I was just changing out of my sea-blue petticoat and bodice and into my riding kirtles, Danielle, the scullery maid, came bursting into my room clutching a teapot! I was surprised, of course, but I took the desperate urgency in her usual calm grey eyes and asked quietly,

"What's wrong, Danielle? What ails you so?"

Danielle, who looked merely shocked before, whipped around to look at me and nearly shrieked with rage. Then, to my great astonishment, she burst into tears.

"O M-m-my lady! S-so gracef-f-ful, int-telligent, b-b-beauteous! Yet does that stinking mongrel of a woman care? Jealousy, t-t-that's what I say. N-no, she insulted you, my l-lady! The Second Maid of Hon-n-our did!" she wailed piteously.

No surprises there, then. I was almost relieved.

The Second Maid of Honour, Francia, was the sort of a person who one itches with the desire to crown her the Head of the Palace Gossip Squad when near her. She has long corn-silk blond hair which she dangles to her waist (though it is still shorter than mine, thankfully) and cornflower blue eyes which she shows off just about any chance she gets. Of course, just like those pretty-looking swan meat which taste gross, she is about the vilest, most wicked person in the whole court. She's pretty alright. Pretty annoying. She is very popular among the palace gentlemen due to the enormity of her bosoms. I do _not_ want _that_, of course, never! Mine's just started to develop last summer and I am _very _uncomfortable with all those peculiar glances from the male members of the court (maybe I should not have written this all down, but I will keep this diary safe, so it is okay). Francia is really irritated with me. I am quite pretty I suppose, though Queen insists that I am the most beautiful of the girls. I'll bet she says that to every girl in the court. I have loose silk waves of crystallised-honey coloured hair that looks brunette when in darkness which is _awfully_ long, just past my knees when let down, as I was never allowed to cut since my mother hated the very idea of cutting them off (my nickname is Rapunzel for a good reason!), and big pale green eyes fringed with long, dark-blond lashes. My mother always used to call my eyes, "the family jewels", for they glitter like faded emeralds in the starlight. Fran calls them "witch's eyes" behind (or in front) of my back. My cheekbones are quite high, and because I am very slim particularly around my waist (when I wear corsets, some stare, much to my discomfort), my wrists and my ankles, people think I am a fragile little baby bird. Well, _Fran_ knows that I am not a weakling (she still likes to charge at me like a bull, Heavens know why). My upper lip is slightly fuller than the bottom, so I look like an angry kitten, a cute little fluff-ball. Ha! As if! Danielle seemed to be thinking along the same lines as me because just then she said, much to my embarrassment,

"How would Francia ever even _think_ about competing with thy loveliness? How _dare_ she do spake to disguise her own foulness, when at the same time affronting Lady Jasmine's exquisiteness? How-" I broke her off, my cheeks tinted cherry-red (which is quite an achievement, since my cream-white, nearly transparent skin hardly ever blush, let alone tint red), and told her with as much dignity as I could muster (while checking behind my back to see if anybody else has heard),

"Do not you worry, my dear Danielle, she asks for a good kick in the bum, that is true, but you must not take any notice of her." At my words she smoothed out her cotton apron and nodded stiffly.

"But your grace, if she does continue to use the gift of God to speak of stinking lies, then may I kick her in the bum for real?" at that I had to laugh, though I was not sure if she was kidding or not. Danielle is just one year younger than me, thirteen, and she is going through a lot of emotional changes. Even when she was little, I remember her crying her eyes out at Mr Timothy's tragic love story in the book _Over the Rainbow and Into Thy Arms._ I like her though. She has a kind spirit and intelligence. That got me thinking, how did Danielle, who hardly ever leaves the kitchen grounds and the cow fields, hear about Fran's nasty gossip? When I asked Danielle, she said, without much enthusiasm, that Fran visits the kitchen nearly every day now.

I was most appalled! The Queen's Grande Dames, also known as Queen's Gentlewomen, were not allowed in such places as the Dumping Grounds (where we dispose of our rubbish) or the kitchen. In fact, we were expected to be where people could always keep an eye on us, which is _really_ irritating. Of course, I (and possibly Ash too) sort of didn't count because of my unstoppable nature to explore places. _Too curious_, those palace rumour-spreaders would say, _why can't she be like Lady Francia and stay out of the way? _Fiddlesticks!

"Ay, my lady. The whole kitchen is filled with those stinkin' friends of hers; even the cook listens to them. T'is been going on for weeks!" Danielle told me as she left. They are definitely up to something. Though my mind was filled with suspicions and questions, I remembered the riding lessons and hurried to change.

I simply love riding horses; the speed, the exhilaration, the soft patch of fur between the horse's ears! But today I admit that I was rather occupied with some disturbing thoughts as Ivory galloped – or rather flew - in to the woods while Sir Nicholas hummed by my side. I did not even realise that we had halted when we stopped at the Duck Pond to feed the baby ducklings stale bread (which Ash had secretly supplied me with last night under the watchful eyes of Mrs Hasleen the cook) and I very nearly fell in to the pond. If Sir Nicholas didn't catch me in time, then I suspect strongly that I would've gotten a bath with the ducks right there and now.

"Are you alright, my lady?" he asked in his deep, booming voice.

"Ay, sir, though I must thank thee immensely for saving me from an unpleasant bath session." I replied, smiling.

Sir Nicholas is quite old for a horse instructor, but he is an amazing rider. He is one of the four suitors the Queen chose. He is very witty and fun to be with, but he is too wild and old for my taste. Those untamed and exploding beard of his!

Not that the other suitors are any better. Besides Sir Daniel and Sir Nicholas, there are Duke Anthony and Sir Joseph. The Duke is an extremely fat and lazy person, known to do anything for power and so extremely unpopular with palace maidens. And Sir Joseph is a –

SPLASH!

Ivory had just lurched away from the pond neighing in surprise for a huge goldfish had splashed water on him. Thanks to him, I slipped from my leather saddle and fell into the pond. Sir Nick was too late this time, it seems. Weeds streaming from my hair, I managed to climb out of the pond to scowl at Ivory, who was gingerly taking a step forward to greet me, her wide, clear black eyes so annoyingly innocent. Sir Nicholas started laughing so hard that there were tears in _his_ eyes. I must've looked a sight, covered in muddy water, stray duck feathers sticking out all over the place. My new petticoat and silk stockings! Mrs Cobblenock was going to give me a _very_ long rant about appropriate girly behaviour later. Mostly because I was all sodden, but also because the weather was turning bad rapidly, we hastened to get back to the castle before it started to rain.

So where was I before I accidently plunged into the pond? Yes - Sir Joseph. Well, he is a very tall and lanky boy, with limp mouse hair and pale milky-grey eyes. He is very, very shy but quite nice, and you can easily get used to his stutters. He doesn't talk much; he's just there listening and sulking about one thing or other. All of this is very private information; I do not want to get Nicole or Richard into trouble because I had left this book lying around for someone else to read.

I hear someone coming up the stairs, I think it might be Fran coming up to get changed.

Still later this day

It was not Fran who was coming up the stairs, but Duke Carlisle Casander's son, Duke Edward Casander! I had heard about him coming to the Windsor Castle to visit the Queen, but surely not so soon!

It was a surprise to see him in the gardens though, for most noble gentlemen do not waste their time with me, too busy trying to catch _Lady Francia's _eye. But he is so different from others. He is quite tall and is the most handsome of any male being I had ever laid my eyes upon, like the Angel himself from the Heaven; his gorgeous bronze hair messed up from riding and dazzling smile lighting up his beautiful face. He has darkish-gold sort of eyes and he looked simply incredible standing there in a raven-feather black velvet suit streaked with gold, just like Sir Antonio from _Princess of Vanessils_ by Isabella Ceyes.

"Hello, you must be Jasmine. My name is Edward. I am enormously pleased to meet you." He said in a soft voice, his voice even _more_ velvety than his suit, unintentionally but unspeakably seductive.

To be absolutely honest, I was shocked. Gentlemen _never_, _ever_ say a thing to a girl without permission (no _my lady, _or_ mistress_ at the end???), especially not sitting down next to them on a rock. But Edward did not once hesitate to brush the last of the duck feathers away from my wet hair with his hands then grin at me, perfectly at ease. I am appalled at myself for writing this, but I felt an electric current run through me at his satin-smooth touch, so powerful and intense that I was sure he could feel it himself.

Not that I did not like it, of course, I was so grateful that there was at least one gentleman who actually did not have any problems with calling girls by their names and laughing along with them. So I smiled back tentatively and spoke rather shyly,

"Yes, I am Jasmine. It is very nice to finally meet you, too… Edward."

His grin became even more pronounced then, his divine face perfect as he jumped up to follow his uncle into the palace.

"See you around…Jasmine." He called.

"'Bye!" I called back softly.

Trying to think of something else other than Edward or Fran, I tossed and turned in the bed, worrying about who I was going to choose to be my…my…

Ugh! I can't say the name aloud;

_My future husband._

Tomorrow (and even more the day after) is going to be a _really_ busy day!


	3. Day Two

_The Thirteenth day of February, the Year of our King 1569_

As the ceremony approaches, I can almost taste the pure excitement in the air just filling one's lung with nervousness and enthusiasm. I was just in the Queen's chamber to assist her as she breakfasted, and so I asked, as courteously as I could, if she could back out on her plan to get me engaged.

"Ahh, little one, do not you think you can worm your way out of this one! Do not you worry, Jasmine love, you will be fine!" the Queen laughed. Queen Elizabeth is so smart! You can never trick her out of doing something that she had already set her mind on. With her flaming red hair and blazing eyes, she truly looks majestic in any situations despite her stoutness. Even her fair and very spotty skin looks beautiful, for she, beyond doubt, is a woman born to be the Queen of England.

Although I used all my mental weapons to get her to halt my marriage planning, I couldn't get her to.

3 O'clock. Time to see to my ball dress… (gulp)

Later this day

I can hardly write in this gown! It would help so much if I had another pair of sleeves on but Mrs Cobblenock has the other good pair, and the nosy old cow would surely tell me off if she saw me using ink in _this_ gown. Actually, no – it is more likely she would faint of shock. But I have no matching pair sleeves for rose velvet in my wardrobe and Mrs Cobblenock is sure to notice if she saw me wearing my tattered grey ones, especially since they have no roses or vines on them. Did I hear her say something about this robe costing hundreds of pounds yesterday? Well, it certainly _weighs_ hundreds of pounds – velvets are extremely heavy, not to mention _layers_ of them. I have to waddle like a duck to move.

"You look _beautiful_, Jasmine. Your lovely long hair and your magnificent ring suits the gown amazingly." The Queen told me as I entered her chamber. The ring I was wearing was a simply divine web of gold bursting outwards from the centrepiece of sparkling white diamond, with other tiny gems of all the colours of rainbow circling it, giving it a magical, shimmery look.

"Thank you, Your Highness." I curtsied as best as I could without falling over and drowning in rose-pink velvet.

"Your Highness?" a high-pitched voice called from the entrance.

Surprise, surprise. It was Lady Francia standing near the door glaring balefully and obviously at me, or rather, _my gown_.

"Your Highness, why does _she _get to have a new dress?" she jabbed a finger in my direction as she spoke.'

"My dear Fran, this ball is especially arranged for Jasmine here. Do not you worry; you will get another gown when you grow out of the…old one." The Queen said, fighting a smile.

Shame on her. She gets a new dress and every other accessory from her male admirers _every single week_, for goodness sake!

Anyway, back to my ball gown. I am to change back to my other dress as soon as possible. Not that I think it _is _possible.

Even later this day

Finally! I am now very comfortable in a nice knee-length dress, though I am only allowed in this outfit out of the other's sight, for the Queen and the other ladies will have a fit if they knew that I was showing off my skinny ankles in _one thin layer_ of butterscotch-yellow silk. It used to be worse though, we weren't allowed to wear any skirt above our ankles. Thank goodness that is no more! In fact, now people think it is quite fashionable. The dress I am wearing now comes up just above my knees and is constructed of buttery yellow silk (nearly see-through and very, very light) with a thick trim of rich white fur spotted with black dots around the back of the neck and draped across my collarbones like a shawl. No sashes, no wheatpaste, and _no sleeves_. I had save this dress for later, though if Mrs Cobblenock helps me to change (shudders) then may the Good Will guide me through such peril. As you can see fro-

Still later this day

My goodness! How could I have been so careless! But it turned out quite well, and that is good. Fran had burst through the doors in her best powder-blue tea-gown with pink silk trims and roses, her sapphire necklace and Dutch-silk scarf to warn me that the garden party with Lady Veronica of Eastern Domain was down the palace garden _now_. The Mistress is a very snobby lady, if I may say so, and very picky. Luckily though I was only a few minutes late although Francia gave me a hard time ranting on about _her wonderful _behavior in the Queen's chamber listening to instructions, tossing her pale pink and light green plumes on her hat as she spoke (it's a wonder why I don't toss _her_ out of the West Tower window), I endured such pain in the neck for the sake of her thimbleful of kindness which at least got me out of trouble. Archduchess Victoria complimented me on my dress (the yellow one which I had no time to change out of – Fran, knowing this, glowered at me). I had pulled on a light violet velvet Lucernces trimmed cloak (knee-length) held on by a silver-lined-amethyst brooch and was also wearing my bronze leather-and-wood heeled sandals, quite old, but Sir Daniel seemed _very _impressed with my garments and appearance (I could see something dangerous prowling beneath the 2-inch-thick coat of wheatpaste on Fran's face). Wearing the thin silk was probably _not_ the best idea when going outside. Despite my warm cloak, I was shivering. Inside my bedchamber, it was very warm and cosy due to the driftwood fire in the fireplace. How I missed the strange blue and green flames in my shabby mantelpiece! Anyway, after Sir Daniel expressed his, er, feelings about my attire (most girl are _crazy_ about him, goodness knows why, but no-one dares to flirt with him for they value their life too much; Fran is _very_ possessive, you know), and also after a slice of most delicious chocolate mousse cake, it was time to attend the Lady, the Archduchess and the Duke to the palace room where the Queen will discuss with them about, you know, whatever Queens discuss with Ladies, Archduchesses and Dukes. There are ten Maids of Honour, in ranking order I will jot them down her: me (Lady Jasmine, I keep my highest ranking position mostly because of my mother, who died to save the Queen), Fran (Lady Francia, second, not because of the pureness of her heart but the flesh _above _her heart – her bosoms, obviously), my best friend Lady Ashley Felyn, Lady Valerie (a timid but a very intelligent girl, the eldest of us Maids of Honour), Lady Charlotte and Lady Clair (they are my other friends), Lady Monet and Lady Adelaide (Fran's wannabes), Lady Helen Shelton (once a great rival of Francia because she used to have enormous chest and an exquisite face, but had a stroke of smallpox at fourteen and the scars on her face keeps her inside her room all the time), Lady Maria Shelton (Lady Helen Shelton's sister who is with her all the time) and Lady Laura. Ash and I once made a long list of the court, who we liked and who we did not like. It took forever! Ash is very pretty with a spray of cute freckles splashed across her face and sparkling sapphire eyes fringed thickly with dark lashes. Her light brown hair is very short for a girl but nice looking. She is four months older than me but quite short in heights, too. I'm pretty short for my age as well, but my proportions and figure are that of a goddess', Madam Praquet once said. We are the stars of the dancing classes and the balls (though I must say, after the last Easter Day performance, Francia had been training harder than ever). We did an incredible duet dance last year and we were awarded by the Queen herself. Even _Francia_ looked awed, and that's really something. Ash took dancing classes with me, at first to keep me in company, and we were both really quite talented at dancing, it seems. Definitely _not_ talented at handwriting! Look at the ink splodges on this journal! Candle or no candle, this is looking _really_ messy. Oh well, for no-one but Ash and I will be able to read it then. Ash is writing a diary too, a twin one of mine. It has the same cover of soft chocolate-brown suede and one delicate silver star pinned on it.

I am really, really tired now. I should get some sleep before the big day tomorrow.

I wonder how Ethan is.


	4. Day Three

_The __Fourteenth__ day of February, the Year of our King 1569_

So the big day has arrived at last.

This morning was quite cold and frosty for the end of the springs, but after having a nice, hot cup of tea in the sitting room, I felt better. By 7 O'clock, Fran and I were the only ones sitting though, for the others had fled to the warm lair of their chambers.

"Did you see Duke James Casander's son?" she squealed. She is always forgets that I am her archenemy when she is excited, and the only time she is excited is when there is a new and handsome _male being _in the court.

"Yes. He was really… nice." I said, my eyes drifting out of focus as I remembered his hands brushing against my cheek. My cheek reacted as if it was on fire. What was wrong with me? Surely I was not… you know, _in love with him????_ I quickly ducked under the table to avoid getting into trouble with Francia.

"He is _dreamy. _ Did you see those eyes? I was watching him from across the hall and _he winked at me._" she squeaked.

It was as if she had launched a bucket of ice-cold water at me. Of course, even if he _had_ called me by my first name, stroked my cheek and sat down beside me, it did not mean he was interested in me. _Fran. _It always has to be _Francia._

It was not fair. My eyes stung but I blinked them back furiously, annoyed at myself. Of course, I knew it was stupid to decide that a man was in love with a woman just because he _winked _(and I doubt he did, for Fran cannot tell a scowl from a grin) at her, but I was so depressed that there was but a _very_ slim chance of _him_ liking _me_. Without another word I left the room and was just about to go back to my room when I heard the door opening behind me and a voice saying, "Hello?"

My blood ran cold. Soft as spring breeze. Smooth as honeyed velvet. I'd recognise that voice anywhere.

I turned around mechanically to face the corridor. There he was, breathtakingly stunning-looking as always. I stood just behind a suit of armour and watched as Francia greeted him in a way-too-friendly way, batting her amazing eyelashes and flaunting her figure. Miraculously, he seemed distracted. I was glad about that. I don't think I could've stood it if _he _started playing along too.

"Where is Jasmine?" he asked, deliberately toying with a teacup.

I felt my jaw drop. So did Francia's, only hers recovered quicker.

"Why do you want to know?" she said sharply.

"Well, I was wondering if she had any more feathers I could borrow. My sister wants to make a duck feather cushion, you see." and with that he turned his overwhelming, burning gaze directly on me. I would have laughed my head off at that duck feather joke. In any other situation but _this_.

I automatically stepped out of my hiding place, my cheeks on fire again. Other than Ethan's intense gaze, I felt Fran's glare on me, probably for ruining her chance with seducing the gorgeous angel standing before me.

"Duck feather? _Duck feather_??? Why in the name of heaven would he need _duck feather_??" I heard her yell to Adelaide and Monet later on.

"Hello again, Jay. I was looking for you." He called out, smiling. 

Ethan and I made our way to the garden to sit on the midnight-black rock we sat on only the day before yesterday. There we just sort of talked about everyday things, not really paying attention to anything or anyone else but the person before me. Occasionally he would ask some quite unusual questions like, about my favourite colour, or my birthplace, or my favourite gemstone. I was too busy observing his heavenly face to really understand what he was saying, but the last question, thrown in such an offhand way that it was almost a careless remark, caught me off-guard.

"So the ball is today, right? Well, I was wondering if you wanted to go with me."

I froze, and as I stiffened he reached down and lifted my chin up so that he could see my shocked face. The touch sent another dose of electrical current down my body.

"You do not have to, you know. It's okay, really. But I think we might be good friends once we try to be." He said brightly, his slightly lopsided nose twitching a little.

Boy, was Fran going to be jealous. I was numb with shock, but I felt happy. I know now. I like him, maybe more than he likes me, which can cause some problems, but for now I wanted to be his friend. So, smiling widely, I answered,

"Sure! I shall meet you at the mermaid-fountain at five to seven." My heart accelerated as he smiled back.

Later this day

Oh, it was shocking, so shocking! But I must start from the beginning and calm myself down a little. I cannot believe what had just happened to me. Lord, spare us!

"Please, Josie?" I begged, my cherry-pink lips pushed out into a cute pout.

The bushy-haired lady before me hesitated. Her wrinkled hands hovered just inches away from my cheekbone, caked with revolting slimy mixture. I tried again,

"Josie, I'd be _dancing._ You know how that stuff runs when you become sweaty." I whined as best as I could.

"But my lady, surely wheatpaste would bring out the colour of your eyes with the gown?" Josephine asked uncertainly.

"Fie! Fie! Never have I heard of such a thing" I waved my hands unconcernedly, _accidently on purpose_ knocking down a bottle of perfume. Josie, scowling, bent down to retrieve the vial. As quick as a wink, I snatched the bowl of wheatpaste from my dressing table and slid it under my bed. I was going to have a hard time scrubbing at the carpet later, for I had spilled some of the goo, but at least it was the carpet, not my face, and that was good.

"Why, if it were for Lady Francia…" she began.

I rolled my eyes.

"Alright, alright." She laughed. I heaved a sigh of relief as Josie left the room. I chucked the wheatpaste away, ignoring the blob on the floor, and set about finding Ash, for we always helped each other. After wasting good fifteen minutes dashing about the stairs, I spotted Ash standing in the middle of the kitchen floor, her back toward me.

"Ash! There you were!" I charged at her, heaving a sigh of relief, which got caught in my throat as soon as I saw her expression.

Ashley's eyes were wide and glassy, frozen with shock. Her face, always a little flushed around the cheeks, was now ashen grey.

Her hands were over her mouth, and she crumpled on the floor as she saw my horror.

"What's happened?" I asked her shakily as I knelt down on to the marble next to her.

"Jay, there…I saw…I saw… _I saw a ghost._" Ashley whimpered.

I frowned at her. Ash was definitely _not_ superstitious, and boy, was she gutsy. What was wrong with her? Did she hit her head somewhere? Surely, surely there was no ghost dwelling in the ancient walls of the Windsor Castle…?

"Oh my Lord!" came a familiar, hysterical shriek from the hallways. "What have you _done_ to her??" Mrs Cobblenock knelt down before Ash, her eyes the size of my saddle-plates.

"She saw a ghost, Mrs Cobblenock." I said, my voice much calmer compared to the chaotic hurricane of thoughts whirling their way around my brain.

"Don't give me such nonsense, child. As if-" she started to scold me again.

Then suddenly there was a blast of cold wind from the direction of the storage room, followed by an unearthly, blood-curdling shriek.

Everyone around me froze, and Ash's knees gave up again. As her knee hit the floor, making a loud thud, the sound stopped abruptly.

I was in _no mood _to say, "I told you so." to the lady before me so I half-carried Ash up the stairs.

The next thing I know was me and Ash (white-faced and gaunt looking) sitting in my tower-room, sipping on our cocoa, nattering about useless this and that mindlessly. I knew not to cross into the "danger zone", the subject about the ghost, but Ash brought it up herself, which rather surprised me.

"Anne Boleyn??" I gasped. "You think you saw _Anne Boleyn's_ ghost??"

"She was just standing there - …she had a yellow sun-dress on, you know, the one she wore for the execution…her dark hair braided and her skin as transparent as Persian silk." Ash had that empty, eerie voice again. Then thankfully she snapped out of it. "Why now, Jasmine, why me?" she half-yelled, frustrated. There were tears in her sapphire eyes.

"Why nothing, Ashley." I answered firmly. "It was _not_ a ghost you saw, most surely not Lady Anne Boleyn's. It just isn't…isn't…"

Then we were interrupted by a sudden shriek below us (a human shriek, thank the Heavens) and a crash of a vase and other glass things being smashing into pieces on the marble floor. We dashed out and into the courtyard, where was now coloured with the pale darkness of twilight.

"It was a woman…a woman with coal-black hair." a small girl with cornflower-blue eyes was sobbing as she was dragged off to the palace. Ash was rigid as she stood by me, watching as the Queen's Ladies-In-Waiting hauled the little lass by her patched apron.

Who was the mysterious "spirit" that had freaked out my best friend and a little girl? Was it really Anne's ghost, coming back to the Windsor Castle to visit her Protestant daughter, Queen Bess???

Reluctantly, I moved toward the scene of questioning (people were bomb-barding the poor girl and Ash with questions), hiding in the shadows to avoid attention of others. It was a peculiar feeling, really, but I think something _drew _me to that particular path of oak leaves, just an ordinary and regular clearing of trees I see every day.

Then I tread on something. Hard, cool and strangely beautifully made. _A half-burnt dagger_. I drew a sharp breath and stared wide-eyed at the magnificent weapon in my hand. The scalpel looked as though it belonged to the King. It had the sharpest blade I had ever seen, blackened but nevertheless extremely dangerous.

The handle was encrusted with an assortment of precious gems, rubies, sapphires, amethysts, and right in the middle was a huge severed emerald in the form of a pomegranate, oddly like a injured venomous snake; bleeding, but poised and ready to strike. Its branches weren't wide, but were curled like claws, and had the pure air of evil about it, dulling the other jewels like a plague, poisonous. The pomegranate shrub was _crowned_ with a golden diadem that sparkled unnaturally.

There was no doubt about it.

This deadly dagger belonged to Catherine of Aragon, the enemy of Lady Anne Boleyn.

Now, I might be petite with loose, _long_ darkish gold curls tumbling about my waist and big eyes, but I am pretty brave, and I can scratch pretty well, believe it or not. I am also gifted with nimbleness of feet and quick mind. I slid in and out of the thick tree trunks until I found our secret tree, Ash and I's. Clutching the dagger, my hands rapidly grabbed on to a promising branch as I had done a thousand times before, wanting to get rid of the treacherous weapon as soon as possible, and as I swung myself up, there were flustered echoes of, "Your Highness, what an amazing opportunity this is to see you again!" and "Sire, 'tis magnificent Your Majesty with more I to visit again!" The Queen herself has many spies not only outside the palace, but the inside as well. Hoping greatly that the Queen or her spies did not spot me as I climbed higher and higher, I finally halted to a stop at the top of the tree. There was the small owl-hole that we always kept our most top-secret stuff. Feeling the familiar bark, I wrapped the dagger in my cotton handkerchief and stuck in inside the downy lair, eager to get rid of it sooner than later.

I swung from the topmost branch and on to the other, landing agilely on to the springy grass with my elbows tucked in. My purple pinafore was ripped, but that just simply could not be helped.

"My lady?" a voice started timidly from behind a tree. I turned around, bracing myself for the _Lady-Francia-routine-telling-off_, relaxing as I saw Sir Joseph stepping out in to the light. "I am most sorry to frighten you, but I just dropped by the forest to look for you, for I believe that Duke Casander is waiting for you in the Diamonde Chambers." and with that he scurried away into the woods, his gilt-collar suit crumpled and muddy.

Duke Casander?

_Ethan wanted to see me again!!_

This news made me so happy, for some reason or other, that I bounced off in the direction of the castle like lightning in the rudest manner possible. I stopped myself just in time to see Sir Joseph slinking off into the shadows of the trees toward east again.

In five minutes I was in my tower-room, digging through my closet for something, _anything _suitable and beautiful. In the end I chose the thin buttery-golden dress that I wore for the tea party with Lady Veronica, and the bronze suede shoes, too. While trying desperately to tug a brush through the muddy tangles, I heard a soft knock on the door. My heart accelerated, as if it knew _exactly _who it was leaning against the door frame casually. And I did. Ethan was there, his beautiful face highlighted with a slightly awkward smile, light reflecting his dark hair.

"Just thought you might need a hand." He said, smirking a little.

I crossed my arms and narrowed my eyes. "_What _kind of hand are you offering?"

But he was already behind me and had my hair untangled in seconds. "You are so pathetic at this." He said, rolling his eyes.

I snorted.

"Your hair is lovely." He murmured as he fingered my honey locks. I flushed with pleasure at his compliment. My good mood faltered a little.

He led me off to the West Stairs after that, making but a little attempt to speak; I was always comfortable in silence, and I was glad that he was, too. Then he turned to the Diamonde Chambers.

"But…but I thought…you're _here._" I stammered stupidly as he knocked on the door. Why was he leading me to the chamber? He was right in front of me!!

He turned to me, arching one perfect eyebrow.

"Your _father???_" I gasped as he steered me into the huge chamber.

"Hello, Jasmine. It is nice to finally see you." Duke Casander spoke pleasantly from a brown leather couch.

"I am Rosie Anne, and you must be Jasmine." Said a girl with long gold locks.

"And I Alicia." Said a girl with light brown ringlets.

"Umm… Hello." I stammered as another woman came out from the room beyond. Goodness knows how many more people were in there.

"Hello, dear. Please do call me Charlotte, not Lady Casander, and this is James." A lady with the highest cheek bones I had ever laid my eyes upon said, waving a hand at Duke Casander.

"I shall write more after the ball, for the seven O' clock bell had just rung and Ethan and the other Cullens are waiting for me.

Even later this day

The ball was amazing at the _start_. I danced as little as possible with the suitors, and mostly Ethan. I would never get used to Ethan's magnificence, it seems, for Ethan, in a sleek suit was simply dazzling, and I could not help but struggle when the other gentlemen came for their turn. Alicia and especially Rosie Anne (with her golden hair piled into a soft crown on top of her head) were stunning. The men could not help but gape at them, followed by a gulp as Count Russel approached. Fran _ground her teeth in frustration _as she watched Sir Daniel looking dazed in the arms of Rosie Anne Casander_. _LadyFrancia, of course, was looking magnificent as usual, with her best weapon, her bosoms, carefully arranged in the most revealing, lowest cut gown I had ever seen. Her dress was made of tight crimson velvet (embroidered heavily with white diamonds and glittering gold) and shimmery light gold cloth to highlight the embroideries. She was looked so stunningly wonderful especially with her long, brilliant hair in an expert style and her eyelashes long and becoming, but next to Rosie and Alicia, she looked like a piece of copper next to gold encrusted with jewels.

The Casander's (especially Ethan) are simply genius at dancing. Ethan just twirled me and my hundred-pound-dress as if it did not even weigh a stone. Once Ethan threw me into the air (literally) and everyone gawked. The Queen looked amused. I gave her one more pleading glance but she was already in the arms of Count de Senialla. I told Ash everything, of course, as best friends must, and she was most supportive. I do love Ashley.

Ethan and I stole out into the gardens as the midnight bell rang twelve times, and my heart was pounding so. I reached out, deliberating a little, and stroked his hand, warm and tanned lightly.

Less than five minutes later he stiffened and whispered in a low voice,

"Time to go back."

We were just in time for my choosing time. I scowled at him but he wasn't looking at me.

"And of course, Lady Jas-" the Her Highness began, but she stopped quickly. "Where is she?"

Count William and Lady Amelia started whispering loudly, their eyes sweeping the ballroom as I tried to sneak out.

"You…Your Grace? Lady Jasmine had gone for a little break from…from all the dancing." Ash butted in wildly. Ashley is truly a wonderful girl. The Queen did not look convinced, but she did not press the matter, and that was good. I will most surely be punished for this later on, but the bathroom-break excuse didn't have _too_ many flaws.

By the time managed to get out of the stuffy room and into the cool stone hallway (I had to use my pink silk butterfly-embroidered fan to hide my face as I stole out of the place), the Queen had already given up looking for me and was now in the arms of sweaty-faced Duke of Fulgerita.

I ran from the place, as fast as I could, when I saw something by the wall. I froze, and a shiver ran up my spine, my blood turned ice-cold and flooded my veins.

There is a joke story about the statue of Anne Boleyn by the wall in the Northern Corridor where the ballroom is located, constructed of milky white marble. The statue, it is said, has some magical powers of Anne herself, and is connected to her secret room underneath the palace, which most people think is a joke because the wine cellar takes up all the space. The story goes that if the seventh day of the month is the day of the seventh full moon of the year, Anne Boleyn will float around the palace at midnight on the lookout for Catherine, the mother of Her Highness the Queen Mary, who is the enemy of Anne herself around the palace, and anyone who looks at her in her carved stone eye will die right there and then. I have no patience for the former Queen of England; they say she was bad-tempered and extremely haughty. Although she was witty and sharp (Queen Bess takes after her mother alright) unlike some other wives of King Henry VIII. I like Jane Seymour, though she is just too _obedient _for a Queen, mild and rather meek. Queen Catherine Howard very foolish but the former King refused to hear a statement against his "rose without a thorn". She was young, pretty and curvaceous. Fie! Hath I be the King Henry then, I would have known better, even as a youthful girl I am. Lady Catherine Howard died as a young lass of twenty-one, she was found guilty of adultery and treason. I daresay I am merely a child, a child that no-one listens to. No-one died so far, which is not surprising. Until now.

The statue wasn't there.

I nearly fainted of shock. I tried to run back to the ballroom but my feet failed to move and so I turned back around to face the statue again. Then, to my relief and utter horror, I realised that the _statue was there again._

She was staring back at me with her painted black eyes, as black as coals from the Hell itself, frozen and purely _evil_. What had just happened?? This illusion, so completely bizarre, had nevertheless happened less than a minute ago.

First it was there, and then it wasn't.

Heart beating fiercely, I reached out and grabbed Catherine's arm, turning it as I went. The marble felt so cold against my sweaty hand, but I kept on tugging at the statue, trying to make _something_ happen.

Sir Nicholas once told me a very scary story when I was only ten years old, a story about a statue in the Windsor Castle. He is a very mischievous man, and he loves fooling around.

"There is a secret chamber in this very castle, m'lady." He started, pulling a very serious face. "T'is a chamber in this palace that is full of treachery, malice and evil that must never be touched.

"Thee who seek the chamber must find a way to 'persuade' the statue somehow to face north and look toward the sky. Only then the entrance to Anne Boleyn's secret cellar may open for thee."

Just then, I realised, I was going to _have_ to live through the nightmarish tangle of lies, deceit and betrayals all over again. My own curiosity wasn't going to let me go without another crazy investigation.

Hopefully, the Good Lord will watch over me as I sleep and bless me with a long and peaceful night.


	5. Day Four

_The Fifteenth day of February, the Year of our King 1565_

While Josie is out of the room, I hope to jot down some things that truly intrigue me (mostly about King Henry VIII's wives; I had to bully my tutor, Sir Richard, to teach me - in secret - about the ladies), but first things first. As I study this journal that I had written for past three days, I cannot believe the amount of things that you can write about in just one day. I had used _eighteen_ pages of this book, and I am only up to my fourth day! It is a fascinating thing, the way you can actually organise your thoughts just by writing them down on paper.

Ugh! I had accidentally spilt some ink on this dress; the inky spot on the thin, silvery-grey silk shows too easily. Ashley tutted at me as she settled on to her wooden table to write _her_ diary, grinning as she told me,

"Why, Jay! You look like those spotted grey pigeons that feed by the kitchen-window!"

I scowled and rolled my eyes.

"Oh do be quiet and pass me your handkerchief, Ash." I sighed in dismay as I examined the inky blotches that had spread even more than I had expected. Some even got on to the blue satin sash that I got from my mother as an Easter Day present (it was embedded in a small silver egg-shaped case). The dress itself was from my mother, too. The shimmery silver-grey fabric swirls like a whiff of some magical mist when it meets a breeze, and three small but pretty silk roses (one reddish-pink and the others yellow) are pinned near the frilled, wide collar. I purposefully doubled and puffed the sleeves so that it would look nicer with a pair of identical blue satin bows just like the sash. It is a very nice tea-gown, though this particular dress reminds of my mother too much. I shall now tell you about my mother's tragic death, though I had sworn to myself that I would not tell for the fear of remembering. It was a quiet, unremarkable night, and I was only thirteen then. I was snuggled up in my bed reading some play by Mr Christopher Marlow when I heard a shriek from the Queen's chamber, followed by cluttering of heavy swords and swearing. I knew something was wrong, _very_ wrong. Then I rose from the bed and landed lightly on my fluffy carpet, heart drumming frantically as if it was desperate to get out of my rib cage, and then I was darting stealthily and soundlessly with barefoot toward the Queen's chamber. I remember this part most clearly, and oh, curse my memory! I stopped just outside the room, for Mrs Cobblenock was standing near the door. Her grey eyes were tinged red with tears. I was just about to sneak out again (she was just as strict when I was young) when she looked straight at me and said in a grave tone,

"My child, the Queen awaits for you."

This is a very formal praise only said when a person is summoned by His or Her Majesty themselves on a very serious occasion. So, feeling rather curious and nervous, I knocked on the door timidly and stepped inside.

It was like I realised what had happened just a second before I caught the sight of the limp white rag. At first I thought it was the Queen's bed sheets. Then, to my utter astonishment and pure terror, the thing twitched and the truth dawned on me.

"Jas…Jasmine…" she rasped.

I ran to my poor mother. Her skin was chalk white and her eyes had half rolled into her head. Her body was still jerking horribly but she spoke no more. Her beautiful light brown hair was matted with dried blood. In fact, there was still a small stream of blood trickling down from her half open lips. Nevertheless, I hugged her over and over again, unable to, _refusing_ to grasp the fact that, no matter how many drops of tears I cried, no matter how many times I kissed her pale cheeks, my mother was never going to breathe again. Then the Queen put her hand on my shoulder and helped me up. My legs shook like jelly. Queen Elizabeth explained very quietly as the Ladies-In-Waiting recovered themselves from the shock.

"My dear, your mother is a brave one, and I owe her my life. She sacrificed herself to save me. If it had not been thy mother, I may have not been here!" she said gently. "She had taken the drink with poison in it and drank it herself. The poison was deadly, and I had no time to save her. I am truly grateful and sorrowful."

For one crazy moment, I was angry at my mother for not letting the Queen drink the poison. I am horrified at myself for writing this down, for even thinking about such thing will certainly land me on the execution block. Hopefully no-one will discover this secret day-booke and babble about it.

"Why did she drink it? Why did she not pour it on to the Dumping Grounds?" I whispered, my voice barely audible, unable to understand.

"My lamb," the Queen continued tenderly. "The devil of Scotland was still in the room disguised as the wine-server, with a dagger. Countess Rosetta was a smart woman. She knew that since the other ladies were not in the room, he would kill her and myself if she sought to disrupt his plan. So she chose to drink the poisoned wine instead of me. She quickly swapped glasses by sprinkling bits of dried leaves in the poisoned one, then offering to drink it herself. She was a great actress, and luckily the wine-server did not notice our quiet exchange. How she knew about the poisoned drink I do not know. But she was a great woman."

The next part I do not know of, for I only remember the next day (I had a stiff neck and sore eyes from all the crying). I think I must have cried some more (who wouldn't?), both in my bed and in Her Highness' chamber. When one cries, it makes one feel very drowsy. Hopefully Mrs Cobblenock did not carry me (as I snored) to my room.

Later this day

There is an elegant lady in a meeting with Her Highness now. Everyone, even Ash and Fran, was surprised at her grand entrance. Ethan kindly whispered to me that she was merely very poor countess just years ago, until recently when she was suddenly showered with jewels. Some say she had found the treasure of Captain Crooked Cutlass, but the most likely theory is that she had caught the eyes of the Archduke of Venissieux, a very powerful man who has an iron grip on a great big chunk of drool-worthy southern fields. True enough, she had today appeared at the Court in the finest jewels, silk, velvet and furs; on her auburn shoulder-length locks was a fancy grey beaver hat, shaded with ostrich plumes as were the fashion nowadays, her narrow shoulders were enveloped in a costly deep-blue velvet shawl heavily embroidered with gold, and she wore a false front of French curls. She was a tall, young lady of twenty-three or two, and from the way she looked at the Duke of Venissieux – simpered, more like – it was obvious how she got hold of that expensive attire of hers. Some of the other gentlemen glared at her – or the Duke – in distaste, but she took no notice. There were a lot of rather rude comments of which I had no choice but to eavesdrop, for I simply _had_ to know more of this mysterious woman. Some language they used! So much for gentlemen and gentlewomen! I looked around for Ethan but he was nowhere to be seen. Furthermore, the whole of James' (I still have trouble not saying Duke Casander) family was nowhere to be seen. Though a lot of people were leaving now, I could not help but find this very disturbing. Melancholy was me, I now feel irrepressibly depressed when he was not near. I find this fact, in some ways, irritating, but mostly fascinating. Fran likes to express _her_ opinions about this detail, too, and by the looks of her angry cat-like hisses, she does not approve at all. Not that I should give her a hoot of course; she had bullied many of my dear friends and soiled my days. Are male beings blind? I do not see _why_ they see an illusion of the perfect (and putrid) damsel instead of the spoilt, piggish brat drenched with vanity she is.

I had been indeed sidetracked from the new lady so I shall now continue;

The Queen appeared and the endless streams of whispered but nonetheless rude comments stopped altogether. The court bowed to Her Majesty in the courtliest manner possible (I did too, a little awkward due to my attempt to peek and the stiff leather corset, hitching up my itchy heavily embroidered sarcenet underskirt and the crimson velvet overskirt).

"T'is an early morning gathering, but not less joyful than the others; for today Countess Isadora Sethgail joins us today in the Court of England." the Queen announced graciously. To be frank, she was the only one looking grander than this Countess Isadora. Fran came a close third, her low necked dress shimmering Tinselled satin and blond ruffles swaying fetchingly around her wrists. Oh, I remember a text in the booke on Lady Helen's dressing gown when I went sneaking in…but that's another story.

"_There Gownes be no lesse famous also; for some are of silk, some of velvet, some of grogram, some of taffatie, some of scarlet, and some of fine cloth, of ten, twentie, or fortie shillings a yard. But if the whole gowne be not silke or velvet, then the same shall be laid with lace, two or three fingers broade, all over the gowne, or else the moste parte. Or, if not so (as lace is not fine enough sometimes), then it must be garded with great gards of velvet, every gard foure or six fingers broad at the least, and edged with costly lace; and as these gownes be of divers and sundrie colours, so are they of divers fashions, changing with the Moon, for some be of the new fashion, some of the olde, some of this fashion, and some of that, some with sleeves hanging down to their skirts, trayling on the ground, and cast over their shoulders, like Cow-tayles. Some have sleeves much shorter, cut up the arme, drawne out with divers and sundry colours and pointed with silk-ribbons very gallantly, tyed with true-loovesknottes (for so they call them)."_

Well, that is the best way to describe the Court of England, with some additional ruffle collars and occasional trains of taffeta.

Another extract from the booke about capes or cloaks;

"_Some have Capes reaching downe to the middest of their backs, faced with Velvet, or els with some fine wroght silk Taffatie at the least, and fringed aboutvery brauvely; & (to shut up all in a word) some are pleated & crested down the back wonderfully, with more knacks than I can declare."_

My hands are indeed aching from all this jotting-downs; I shalst go to my tea now and get ready to attend the Embroidery Class at noon; my sewing-scissors, spans of crimson, yellow, green and rich blue threads, needles, white cloths for embroidering and scraps of velvet, silk and taffatie.

Even later this day

The nerve of that woman! During our embroidery lesson with Countess de Senilla, just as she was starting to demonstrate with the intricate silver star-and-moon embroidery of the outskirt of Miss Rosebud's (she is the small doll that Countess de Senilla displays her demonstrations on) outskirt, Countess Isadora _barged_ into the Chamber of Ladies' Academy where we are educated, without knocking or _anything_. She haughtily swept the room once with those beady eyes, and having decided that we were apparently worthless (Heavens, forbid that woman!) turned to the outraged Countess de Senilla and declared grandiosely,

"I see that this is not the best time to interrupt, but I believe this is urgent," she said in a very sleazy tone, pronouncing the _s_ like a _z_,slightly French. Then she beckoned the livid Countess toward her like one flick of her bony finger, an amused and arrogant look on her face. Flicking her elaborate hairdo out of the way, the woman swept out of the chamber with poor Countess de Senilla hobbling behind her with a wooden cane. How I wish I used that cane to whack her one in the bum! But alas, we must keep our standards, and not swoop to their level. I toyed with Annabelle's pinafore; Annabelle is my display doll that I use for embroidery lessons. I named her Annabelle after my favourite middle name, Annabeth. Annabelle looks like me, in a way, with honey ringlets tumbling teasingly around her waist and greenish-grey eyes. She is still in her miniature version of my rose velvet ball gown with her golden locks in a ruby-rose clasp that I got from the Queen last year. Her pearly porcelain complexion causes her to look like a Winter Pixie. Anna has a tattered nightgown that used to belong to my mother's doll, transparent white lace, and also two formal gowns with uneven and rather lumpy hems (I do not care the least for embroidery) with proper farthingales and elaborate underskirts encrusted with Fool's Jewels (fake jewels, that is).

When the Countess was back, we (literally) bombarded her with questions that really weren't necessary, and (never before had I seen this strict woman so meek) the old lady before us adjusted her gloves and waited silently for the class to calm down. When all the voice faltered, she rose and gave a hurried and whispered lesson to us dumbstruck girls. Noun of us, not even chatty Fran or tactless Adelaide.

It makes me wonder, who really is that woman? Is she a threat?

If not, where is Ethan?


	6. Day Five

_The Sixteenth day of February, the Year of our King 1569_

Though I had not mentioned this, from the very day that the St Valentine's Holidays had ended, we Ladies had been dashing to and fro the castle, aiding the Queen or attending our lessons. Pretty normal days at the Windsor Castle, considering what happened just now in the ball. But since the day Countess Goldmine (I call her this in my head for she wears so much costly things just to show off how rich she is) arrived to this precious palace, things are very uneasy. Around every corner are people whispering and gossiping. The only good thing about her surprising entrance is that the Queen is now distracted from me and my suitors. Come to think of it, I had not seen many of them around, not even jolly ol' Sir Nicholas. Only Her Highness seems comfortable enough to arrange a bouquet to welcome Countess Goldmine, though the reproachful glances say otherwise. O Ethan, Ethan! O, where fore art thy Ethan? (I have been diving under my quilt with William Shakespeare's _Romeo and Juliet _every night these days). But no worries, for guess what was on my bedside table but a letter! His writing seemed a little blotchy, like he had written in a hurry. This surprised me in two ways; first, how could he get in to my chamber? Secondly, I have seen Ethan's writing before, and I suspect this has not the same elegance and flow to it. What made him and his family flee so? The Goldmine, or was it something else?

I fear the Queen is sending Mrs Cobblenock to nag me about the marriage again. I shall write more at the Tree.

Later this day

My heart is thudding like mad. My brows are damp with cold sweat. For what is there in my secret hiding place, the hole in my Tree, but a parchment? I searched frantically for Queen Catherine's half-molten dagger, but alas, no such luck. With shaking hands, I unfolded the paper, and found a message written with a stranger's hand;

_Quit snooping around, missy, or suffer._

Even as I was frozen to spot, unable to move, my brain worked intensely for clues of who might have composed this threatening letter. Images and scenery whirled before my eyes for two seconds, and then I raised my forefinger and wiped the message once. I observing my stained finger for half a second before whipping out this journal to write down my jumbled thoughts on;

1. Ash is the only one besides me who knows about this tree.

2. The Hallway, where I had found the dagger, was empty except for the statue.

3. The passage where I found the dagger was the same passage where Ash saw the 'ghost of Mistress Anne Boleyn'.

4. When I –

Still later this day

The reason I had stopped was because of a strange noise down the tree. I snuck down, hoping to surprise whoever it was, but he was too quick. This treacherous spy, I suspect, was he who left me the message. I only saw a glimpse of black velvet before he vanished. Immediately I thought of Ethan (cursed be my hand!) but of course he would not do such evil as possessing and stealing back the devilish dagger or threatening me…would he? I am tired and I must get some sleep before attending my courtesy lessons.

Even later this day

My throat aches from singing and reading Bibles, and my hands are sore from needlework. Moreover, there are rumours flying around the castle that a skilled thief and assassin is in or near the castle; the gossiping ladies all claimed to have heard weird noises down in the wine cellar at nights, and few swore that they had seen a silhouette of the dark stranger slinking into the shadows. Furthermore, some valuable jewels or other prized possessions appeared to have been stolen, like Archbishop of Canterbury's ivory cross laid with turquoise (he was reasonably calm about it, dear Tom; he used to be Her Majesty's Chaplain when she was the Princess, and is very good at controlling one's emotions – and his own as well) – O, it troubles me dearly to acknowledge that a dangerous assassin would indeed dare to sneak into an old man's chamber, how close ­he had come to the face of death. He had been visiting the Castle to pay his respect to Queen Elizabeth, only to lose his treasure. The ivory charm was valuable to him for mostly sentimental reasons, but it_ is_ pure ivory and sapphire, so it must be worth quite a lot. The Archbishop left this morning. Had the assassin been expecting, or I daresay, _intending_ this to happen? But then how could the invisible monster pick out the right room? Is he here in the Palace right now, listening to our whispers of fear and perhaps cackling with menacing glee? I fear the answer is yes.

There is a traitor among us.

Just like the Scottish murderer.

Whose mother must we sacrifice now?

Even later this day

The bouquet was chaotic, I daresay. Everyone, everyone except the Casanders, that is, attended this event, and though the Queen tried - without success - to brighten up the atmosphere of the ball room (which we use for these events; how I hate to see the luminous glow of the white marble dancing floor covered up with unadorned carpets), the chilly frostiness of suspicion and jealousy. In spite of the lavish and sumptuous feast that we fest on as the night went creeping by, nobody, not even the Queen, ate much of it. I can just hear the Chief Cook (menacing woman – sneaky and manipulative) circling the kitchen and threatening anyone to speak to her. I guess the reason for her beastly behaviour is the amount of food that was carted off to the Dumping Grounds.

Here is what we ate tonight at the Bouquet of Welcome:

On the table was placed a centre-piece, which represented a green lawn, surrounded with large peacocks' feathers and green branches, to which were tied violets and other sweet-smelling flowers.

In the middle of this lawn a fortress was placed, covered with silver. This was hollow, and formed a sort of cage, in which several live birds were shut up, their tufts and feet being gilt.

On its tower, which was gilt, three banners were placed, one bearing the arms of the Queen, the two others those of Countess Isadora and de Villequier (the Goldmine's son, who had arrived today), in whose honour the feast was given.

_The First Course_  
The first course consisted of a civet of hare, a quarter of stag which had been a night in salt, a stuffed chicken, and a loin of veal.

The two last dishes were covered with a German sauce, with gilt sugar-plums, and pomegranate seeds (I didn't touch those seeds, for they remind one too much of that ghastly weapon)....

At each end, outside the green lawn, was an enormous pie, surmounted with smaller pies, which formed a crown. The crust of the large ones was silvered all round and gilt at the top; each contained a whole roe-deer, a gosling, three capons, six chickens, ten pigeons, and one young rabbit.

To serve as seasoning or stuffing, a minced loin of veal, two pounds of fat, and twenty-six hard-boiled eggs, covered with saffron and flavoured with cloves.

_The Second Course_  
...There was a roe-deer, a pig, a sturgeon cooked in parsley and vinegar, and covered with powdered ginger; a kid, two goslings, twelve chickens, as many pigeons, six young rabbits, two herons, a leveret, a fat capon stuffed, four chickens covered with yolks of eggs and sprinkled with powder de Duc (spice), a wild boar.

_The Third Course_  
…Some wafers (darioles), and stars; a jelly, part white and part green, representing the crests of the main guests

_The Fourth Course_  
…Cream with Duc powder, covered with fennel seeds preserved in sugar; a white cream, cheese in slices, and strawberries; and, lastly, plums stewed in rose-water.

_The Fifth Course_  
Besides these four courses, there was a fifth, entirely composed of the prepared wines then in vogue, and of preserves. These consisted of fruits and various sweet pastries. The pastries represented stags and swans, to the necks of which were suspended the arms of the Countess Isadora…

And who knows how many more.

I do hope dearly that things will work out between the Court and Goldmine; as much as I loathe Goldmine with passion, I cannot bare to see the Court divided. Countess de Senilla did not attend the bouquet today (and I do not blame her) and the Casanders (I shall pray to Lord tonight for his – their - safe and quick return).

I must have my supper now, and hopefully talk to Ash, too.


End file.
